


Next Time

by tricktactoe



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 15:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13461162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricktactoe/pseuds/tricktactoe
Summary: They had about twelve hours to themselves before everyone else arrived.





	Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> A little piece inspired by the thought of the boys being on their own, when the Oscar noms were revealed. This is all fiction, ofc.

Timothée and Armie had about twelve hours to themselves before everyone else arrived.

It wasn’t that what they were about to do, they couldn’t do with with the others around. They could even do it with Elizabeth's blessing.

There was just something about having Armie to himself that made butterflies crawl through Timothée, inside and out.

Earlier, Timothée had been able to throw his arms around Armie and muffle a small cry in his shirt when the Academy Award nominations were revealed - _finally_ \- and that had felt like coming home.  But Timothée hadn't been able to ignore the bittersweet energy of Armie's touch, the feeling the same as during their farewell scene on the train platform, so much of their lives mirroring their movie. 

Armie was clearly happy for Timothée, but Timothée had been pained by the fact that Armie had been overlooked. 

Again.

Timothée would have done anything to give that nomination to Armie. Angry thoughts and plans about pulling a Kanye as whoever won Best Supporting Actor went up to receive their reward had been interrupted, though, by Armie’s quiet laughter. Exposed again.

“Can’t you just focus on your own fucking brilliance for one minute?”, Armie had said as he pulled away, letting his hands trail up to Timothée’s neck to rest there. Soft and warm. There had been nothing bittersweet about the look that had met Timothée's eyes.

That had been two hours ago. Ten more to go.

According to the logic of their long-distance, feverish love affair they should be doing it six ways from Sunday. The frisson of tension that had been between them on the plane, at the airport, getting to their hotel and leading up to the nominee revelations had faded, though. In its place, warm, inexhaustible affection bled into the space between them. The peace of finally being able to look, and touch, without other people around to interrupt, was enough. Sex seemed almost secondary in comparison to being able to lie in bed and hold Armie’s hand, letting his thumb trace the lengths of Armie's fingers, slowly, repeatedly. Laughing softly as, again, the parallels were obvious.

“I’m here with Academy Award nominee, Timothée Chalamet,” Armie said, his voice pitched, his attempted French pronunciation bungled. Looking from Timothée’s hand to his face, he continued. “How does it feel to be the youngest actor ever bestowed with the honor -”

“Not the youngest-”, Timmy tried.

“ _The_ youngest, most handsome, most special motherfucker to ever get nominated for a Best Actor Oscar?” The smile on Armie’s lips was so devilish that Timothée had to dive forward and press his lips against it once, quickly. Then again, just because he could. He leaned back and attempted a stern look, but the whoosh of a laugh left his lips without his control.

“Well, Mr. Armand Hammer -” Timothée bit back, pausing for effect.

“Motherfucker,” Armie grumbled, still smiling.

“It’s a great honor to, yet again, be offered the opportunity to sit in an audience and clap as Gary Oldman gets the award.” Timothée continued, aiming for levity, but failing.

A pained look appeared on Armie’s face for a split second, before he vaulted his enormous body over Timothée’s, letting his hands move on Timothée’s torso, making him squirm. Armie knew all of Timothée’s sensitive spots.

Armie's eye met Timothée's for a moment, the look on his face unbelievably stern.

“What did we say about the self-deprecating jokes?”, Armie said, his fingers getting more insistent, the sensation shifting from enjoyable to uncomfortable and back again. Timothée let out a yelp, trying to express exactly how much that was not what he was doing. Armie would have none of it.

“And what did we say about your expected punishment should you choose to engage in such behaviour?”, Armie continued, letting one hand move up to Timothée’s face, slowing the movement of his other, letting his thumb sweep across Timothée’s cheek.

Armie pressed a quick kiss underneath Timothée’s eye, like he couldn't help it, and the warmth that spread through Timothée’s body erased any self-doubt, any anxiety about his own worth being determined by strangers. The anxiety was replaced by selfless love, so clear in Armie’s eyes that Timothée was overwhelmed. 

They couldn't stop themselves. They were making out before Timothée could think. Armie’s body lowering gently, hovering above Timothée, eager to touch but careful all the same. Moving closer, but not close enough. Timothée needed them to touch everywhere.

“Just get down here, you big, old safety blanket,” Timothée said, hooking a leg around one of Armie’s and using as much strength as he had to pull Armie down. Armie came willingly, of course, with a laugh. The heat of Armie’s body spread through Timothée, the butterflies clearly in complete turmoil now. Making out turned to more, with neither of them ever touching enough.

They passed a couple of hours like that. Having sex, talking, sleeping. Time flew because they didn’t know how to stop it. Time always the nemesis.

***

Timothée was startled out of a deep sleep by the shrill tone of an incoming phone call. Barely awake and blurry-eyed, he picked up on the stretch of Armie’s enormous body over his, Armie letting his hand trail over Timotheé gently as he grabbed for his phone. Timothy rolled into him, moving slowly back into sleep, the gentle voice of Armie a sweet lullaby. They had time.

Or did they?

The next time Timothée woke, the passing of time had brought reality. Armie was moving around the room, picking up discarded pieces of clothing, throwing take-out boxes and pistachio shells into the trash. The actions were clearly the sign of closure, of moving on to whatever was happening next. The pain Timothée felt at that realisation was sharp and painful. Pressing his face into the cushion, he silenced a small, sad sound. When Timothée looked up again, Armie was standing next to the bed, eyes on him. A bittersweet smile fixed on his face.

After a moment of letting their eyes meet, Armie scratched his beard absentmindedly and looked away from Timothée.

“We’re meeting Luca in an hour,” Armie said, putting the deadline to their rendezvous much closer in time than Timothée had hoped. 

“I should already be on the way to picking Liz up at the airport.” Armie continued. Timothée felt a wave of guilt at that, the pain visceral in his gut. 

“But she said she didn’t mind, that I had more important business to attend to.” Armie said, eyes glittering at Timothée and the guilt receding slightly. Timothée was blessed over and over again by the sweetness and kindness that Elizabeth provided them with. Armie was blessed by her understanding and her love. Now truly overwhelmed, Timothée couldn’t keep a small sob from escaping him. He put a hand to his mouth.

Armie moved before Timothée could process it, arms around him and his lips whisper-soft over Timothée’s hair, the top of his head, his ear, his neck. Timothée’s arms crept around Armie’s middle, anchoring him. If time could stop now, Timothée wouldn’t mind.

But it couldn't.

They eventually had to let each other go. Timothée went to take a shower, while Armie cleaned up the mess of the room. Time ran out as they shared a small kiss outside the hotel room door, Timothée hoisted his bag over his shoulder, Armie pulled his behind as they leaned towards each other, a final time. 

For now.

A dual ping from both their phones revealed their tardiness. Elizabeth, Luca or even Michael letting them know that their time was up.

Armie’s sad sigh as he stepped away from Timothée was heartbreaking and beautiful. Armie's eyes dropped to the floor for a second, and then came back up to meet Timothée’s.

“Until next time then, I guess, Sweet Tea,” Armie said, a sad smile on his face. Timothée knew that they would be seeing each other twentyfour-seven for a week, holding hands, making kissy faces, being lame. Letting others see their story unfold. But they wouldn’t be alone. It wouldn't just be the two of them. He didn't know when it would be just the two of them again. The shock of that, as always, left Timothée breathless.

“Yeah, until next time.” Timmy replied, meeting Armie's sad smile with one of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Timmy was overwhelmed about 15,000 times in this fic, I am aware, BUT this is my first fic in ten years. TEN YEARS. So I feel like that's a solid excuse. Love constructive criticism, love love. If you want to get insane with me about CMBYN at tumblr, I'm at vagrancy/ohwilde.
> 
> P.S. Right after I finished this, I read about them being on a plane when they found out and on their way to Crema to have dinner with Luca (lol) so PLS SUSPEND DISBELIEF a little more when reading thanks.


End file.
